Unexpected Events on Baker Street
by Her Madjesty
Summary: An incredibly belated Christmas present dedicated to one of my dear friends, as so created by a fireplace in a snowy haven we inhabit every winter. In the early days of their living arrangement, Sherlock manages to surprise John in the most curious of ways.


_A/N This is for a dear friend of mine as a late, late Christmas present. I don't write in this fandom consistently, but may do it again, if the reviews are positive. Anyway, I hope you enjoy~_

_The Mad Queen_

XXX

It was the first few weeks that the tone for the relationship between the two men was set.

The building annoyance that was brewing in the military man's gut squirmed beneath the scrutinizing gaze of the opium addict, who sat primly before him, complete with corset, petticoats, and wide blooming skirt sprawled out before him.

"And how exactly are you going to explain this one?" the exasperated man asked politely, busily stuffing smoke into his pipe to avoid his companion's gaze.

"It's quite simple, Watson." The other replied, fiddling with a loose ribbon.

"What man on this earth, other than I, would expect a woman to be a detective?" the dull glimmer began to shine in the inspector's eyes as he recounted his tale.

"Naturally, it was the perfect disguise."

"I set out tonight to partake in a bit of business, as it were," Holmes told Watson, staring blissfully into the air around him. "Settling oneself down in even the soberest of laps tends to bring about a rowdy response from most men, don't you think?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." The doctor replied dryly.

"I assure you it does." Holmes replied. "Within a few minutes I had a wide variety of men offering me drinks, but not the one whose attention I wanted. I approached him, not uneagerly, making a bit of a scene as I bumped past him with a drunken fiend besmitten with my…" two steady hands indicated the overlarge hills protruding from the man's chest.

"The man scoffed at me, Watson, called me some of the most unsightly names." Holmes recounted, an affectionate smile on his face. "His accent was hidden, but not undetectable, and his apparent _distaste_ for the womanly form made his—_interests_ quite clear."

"He liked men a little too much for his own good, did he?" the doctor asked.

"Precisely." Holmes made to swipe the pipe from his stanch friend, but missed, tumbling over the blossoming skirts he wore.

"What a distraction these things must be." He mused, hand groping for the desired pipe. "Really, how do women stand it, Watson?"

"When you find one will to stand you for more than a few seconds, be sure to ask."

"What wit!" With a crow the pipe was in the inspector's hand, and he flew across the room, perching against the blackened wall and grinning at his companion. "Indeed, I'll take the skirts over that blasted organ they call a uterus."

"Is that how you wooed the men in the bar?" Watson called after him, running a hand through disheveled hair, a small grin working onto his face.

"The bosom helps, of course." Holmes called back, sucking deeply from the pipe. "As I'm sure you're aware."

Watson chuckled, and Holmes leapt to continue.

"However, Watson, there was something more interesting than our friend's romantic interests tonight."

"Whatever would that be?"

Holmes smirked. "He had quite the array of ink stains dabbled across his skin, like he had been writing more than a few letters. He smelt of lead and gunpowder, and his trousers," Holmes rolled his eyes in disgust. "Clearly he had recently engaged in an activity that had caused him quite an amount of excitement."

"Or fear." Watson called, moving to poke at the logs in the heartily burning fire place with a poker. "It might not have been what you thought it was."

"It most definitely was." Holmes replied, voice even with confidence. "I've never been so disgusted in all my life."

"Nor have I." Watson agreed. "And to think, I live with you."

"Comedy would have appealed to you, my friend!" Holmes called to him. "Alas, our dear emaciated friend made quite a few mistakes in his desperate attempt to flee persecution, and now the young man who was so brutally violated can rest in peace."

"At least, according to his mother." Holmes tacked the statement on, letting it linger in the air like the smoke from his pipe.

Watson turned and eyed his new found companion with an expression that would become dearly familiar to the two of them in the following months.

"I think you just wanted an excuse to use that old dress of hers you 'retrieved'." He said after a moment, turning back to the fire.

"There is nothing like the female form, Watson!" Holmes said, moving to exit the room. "You should know that better than any of us!"


End file.
